


down by the water’s edge

by sameolsituation



Category: Sweet (Band)
Genre: And he only thinks with his dick, Brian is a filthy mf, Desperation, Filth and nonsense, Golden shower, M/M, Sleepwalking, Smut, Watersports, accidental tho
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:55:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26945545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sameolsituation/pseuds/sameolsituation
Summary: Brian’s got a penchant for sleepwalking, and it doesn’t always end well. Steve’s about to find that out... the hard way.
Relationships: Brian Connolly/Steve Priest
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	down by the water’s edge

**Author's Note:**

> Forgive me for I have sinned. Back at it writing filth.  
> Inspired by a line straight out of Steve’s book, about Brian sleepwalking and “taking a leak wherever he considered the bathroom to be.” This book has fic inspiration for DAYS, I’m telling you.  
> Ahem. Sorry Steve, sorry Brian. I love y’all.  
> I’m not British so please excuse the lack of proper terminology.  
> Do enjoy, and let me know if you’d like to see a second chapter, which I’m seriously debating creating...

It’s late when Brian wakes from his sound sleep with an urgent need thrumming through his body, an insistent ache rooted just below his navel, in the space between his hips.

The hotel room is dark and silent, save for the soft sound of Steve’s breathing as he sleeps in the other bed, just a few feet away from where Brian is currently laying, completely unaware of his current predicament.

Brian sighs softly as he pushes the sheets down, laying his palm on his abdomen and slowly moving it lower, pressing down lightly on the slight swell of his bladder. The ache within his body throbs with even the mildest touch, demanding his attention and making his cock twitch in his briefs.

He debates staying in bed and savoring the feeling for a while longer — it’s a bit like when he’s got a pretty girl spread open for him, the way his cock twitches as she squirms and moans as he tastes her, and he quite likes that feeling — but he’s not entirely sure he won’t piss himself if he falls back to sleep, and if he pisses the bed as a grown man in his mid-twenties, on tour with his semi-well-known band, he’ll never hear the end of it.

But a minute or two longer won’t hurt. 

He presses down again, just experimentally, and gasps softly as wet heat blooms around the head of his cock, the smallest spurt dampening the front of his briefs. Just that slightest bit of release from his tired bladder feels almost orgasmic, but he knows he can’t go any further. 

Not now, anyway. Not until he’s properly alone - when they each have their own individual hotel room, instead of sharing with someone else only feet from him, present to possibly witness all his filthy little deeds and his deepest, darkest desires. 

He rolls out of bed slowly and winces as the ache intensifies tenfold once his body is vertical, his bladder begging for another release, and the idea of letting go right here and feeling his piss soak his briefs and streak hot down his legs is terribly tempting.

He manages to resist the urge, instead padding past Steve’s bed and into the bathroom attached to their room, leaving the light off as his eyes have adjusted to the darkness already. He leaves the door open, too; it’s not like they haven’t seen each other naked before — they’ve shared enough girls that Brian knows almost all the details of Steve’s body.

Brian’s cock is half-hard when he tugs it out of his briefs as he stands in front of the toilet, and it feels like an orgasm as he lets go, cock in hand as he relieves himself. In his sleep-addled, arousal-clouded mind, he doesn’t think anything of the fact that the sound of his piss splashing into the toilet is inaudible. 

He can only think of how good it feels to finally let go, the ache between his hips easing, relief rushing out of him, a moan leaving his lips unbidden.

* * *

Steve is having a strange dream.

He’s swimming in a pool somewhere. He’s not sure where; maybe it’s another hotel pool, maybe it’s a local pool they snuck into, maybe it belongs to some groupie’s parents who are conveniently out of town for the weekend, letting her host the band in more ways than one while they’re gone.

He can swim just fine, but inexplicably the water is rising around him, splashing over the sides of the pool. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t escape the rising waves.

He’s going under, and everything fades to black.

He jolts awake, gasping for breath, only to realize with a sinking feeling the bed is wet around him; soaking, actually, and so are his clothes. 

Did he piss himself? It hasn’t happened since he was a child, and there’s no reason for it to happen now, even with the remnants of a good dream gone bad lingering in his mind. 

He soon realizes that the mysterious wetness isn’t his own doing; the liquid is pouring over him, hot rivulets soaking through his shirt and running down his sides.

When he opens his eyes, it’s hard to make anything out in the darkness of the room, but as his eyes adjust he sees a familiar silhouette over his bed.

It belongs to none other than one Brian Connolly, his eyes closed and lips parted, cock in one hand as he pisses all over Steve’s bed — and Steve. 

Granted, it’s not the first time Brian’s gone sleepwalking and pissed somewhere that definitely wasn’t the toilet, but it _is_ the first time he’s done it all over one of his bandmates. 

“Brian! What the _fuck_?” Steve shouts as he scrambles to a sitting position and switches on the bedside lamp. The light reveals a veritable mess; the bed’s white sheets stained a different color and practically dripping; Steve’s clothes clinging to his skin uncomfortably, now in desperate need of a thorough wash.

Thankfully, the sudden light seems to knock Brian out of his sleep-induced stupor, as his eyes flutter open and his brows draw down in confusion.

“Huh? What’s going on?” Brian asks, still sounding not entirely awake and clearly unaware of what he’d just been doing.

“Look what you’ve _done,_ ” Steve all but screeches. Yet as Brian stands there trying to make sense of the situation he’s found himself in, Steve is coming to the realization that there’s a small part of him that doesn’t mind all that much.

He’s not quite sure how to feel about that.

Brian blinks and looks down at himself, his eyes widening almost comically when the gears finally click and everything kicks in. “Ah, fuck,” he mumbles.

“ _Fuck_ is right,” Steve huffs, choosing to mask his curious ambivalence with anger, both for his sake and Brian’s. “You’ll be paying the bloody cleaning bill for this.”

As Brian hastily tucks himself back into his briefs, Steve gets out of bed and heads to the bathroom, ready to change out of his sopping wet clothes.

He’s already begun to hate himself for wondering if it could happen again.


End file.
